


No Fighting In Front of the Tablet

by puella_nerdii



Category: Suikoden I, Suikoden II
Genre: Gen, Gossip, awkward crushes, boys being dumb at each other, precocious teens, stop sticking your snout in other people's business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/pseuds/puella_nerdii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luc doesn't like anyone. Really. And even if he does, it's none of Futch's business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Fighting In Front of the Tablet

**Author's Note:**

> Mithrigil is a dirty rotten enabler.

Viktor and Flik claim that Futch has grown up since the war in Toran, or they did when Luc overheard them talking to Humphrey about it. (Humphrey being Humphrey, and largely unchanged since the war in Toran as far as Luc can tell, didn't have much to say either way.) Luc remembers Futch as a tiny loudmouthed brat—loud when he wasn't sulking, at least. Futch is taller now, and sulks less, but he's as loud as ever. What's worse, he's persistent. Very persistent.

"Come on, there has to be _someone_ you like," Futch says, and prods the stone tablet with the butt of his spear. 

Luc scowls. "Not you."

"I didn't ask if you liked me, I asked if you liked anyone." Futch pauses. "Though I guess I count as anyone."

"Good for you." Luc folds his arms over his chest and wishes for the thousandth time that the stone tablet wasn't positioned at the entrance to the castle. It's impossible to go ten minutes without someone barreling past him up the stairs and nearly knocking him over, or people carrying their arguments from the tavern and courtyard into the main hall and making his ears hurt, or one of the new recruits asking what the tablet's supposed to be.

And now Futch is cornering him, chirping like that damned wyvern of his—Luc refuses to believe it's a dragon—about who Luc _likes_. As though that matters. As though there's some reason for Futch to care.

"It's just that you stand there watching everybody with the same expression on your face, like you just drank sour milk. And I know the milk isn't sour, because I'd be sick if it was sour. And then I thought your face just got stuck that way. But it's not always stuck that way. So it can't actually be stuck."

Luc has no idea how Humphrey puts up with all this. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"No." Futch smiles, shoves his circlet higher up on his forehead and pushes his bangs back from his eyes. The circlet looks just as stupid as it did three years ago. Why does he even wear it, if he's not a Dragon Knight anymore? "Lord Riou didn't take me with him to Radat, and Humphrey's not going to drill with me for a few hours. And Bright's asleep. Chaco was trying to help him fly earlier. I think it tired him out."

Luc rolls his eyes. Futch doesn't notice, and blithely continues on about his stupid wyvern and its stupid diet and its stupid failed flight lessons with stupid Chaco, who Futch says is a good—

"Wait, _what_?"

"He's a good kisser," Futch says, as though he sees nothing wrong with letting Chaco's tongue into his mouth. Ugh. Luc wrinkles his nose.

That, at least, Futch notices. "What's wrong? You don’t like kissing?"

"I don't care about kissing," Luc says, and is tempted to call on his Rune and put Futch to sleep. But Leknaat forbade him from using his Rune for "personal gain" while he's here, and she always finds those things out. He sighs, grinds his staff into the flagstones.

"Because you never have, or because you think it's gross?"

"None of your business."

"It's really not gross," Futch says. "It feels nice. Back at Goya—"

"This isn't Goya, and you aren't a Dragon Knight," Luc says.

Hurt flares up behind Futch's eyes, and hopefully that'll get him to leave Luc alone. But he shakes it off, brightens, and says, "I can still believe in their traditions even if I'm not. And people don't get so hung up on liking each other in Goya. If you like someone, all you have to do is walk up and tell them so, and if they like you too, good for you both! Or all three. Or whatever. And if they don't, no one has hard feelings. Usually."

"Fine," Luc says. It makes slightly more sense to him than the way Eilie pines over Lord Riou and the way Nina chases after Flik, though like hell he'll admit as much to Futch. "I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"If you like someone, then you shouldn't keep it a secret."

"I don't like anyone. Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Because you can't actually be happy being that lonely," Futch says, more quietly than he's spoken so far.

 _So what if I'm not?_ Luc almost retorts, but decides against it. Futch might have grown up around a True Rune but he hasn't borne one, and he doesn't understand why it's all inconsequential, in the end. He can't possibly. "I'm never alone," he says instead, and gestures to the guards standing at attention at the top of the steps, the soldiers leaning on the pillars and conversing, the messengers weaving through the people trickling out of the tavern. "I'm surrounded by people."

"That's not the same thing, and you know it. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Really."

"Really." Futch leans on his spear and stares Luc down. He's tall enough to do it now without going on tiptoe; if he were standing straight, he'd be taller than Luc by half a handspan, and he's nowhere near done growing yet. Luc's chest twinges, and he slaps those thoughts away before the twinge gets any worse.

"Actually," Futch continues, "I'm so smart that I can guess who you like right now."

Luc scoffs.

"Let's see." Futch scratches the side of his nose in what passes for an attempt at thinking. "You don't talk to a whole lot of people, so that narrows it down. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"That's none of your business, either," Luc says, and Futch's face splits into a huge grin.

"So you _do_ like someone! If you didn't, you would've said 'neither,' or something like that." He has no right to look that pleased with himself for such a clumsy trick. Even if it's a clumsy trick that Luc fell for, apparently. He grits his teeth and stares straight ahead, through one of the great glass windows they've recently scrubbed clean. If he pays Futch no mind at all, Futch will get bored and leave. He hopes.

No one else in the hall seems to be paying them much mind either, though they might if Futch prattles on any louder. "Hey!" he says, and knocks on Luc's head. Luc swipes at him with his staff, but Futch dodges with ease. 

"What?"

"It's really rude to ignore people when they're talking to you."

"It's ruder to pester people when they don't want to be bothered. You must drive Humphrey crazy."

Futch's scowl flattens, and he glances down at his boots. "He hasn't said anything about it if I do," he says, and Luc hardly needs to point out that Humphrey rarely says anything about anything. But then Futch straightens, peering at Luc. "Hold on, do you like Humphrey? I guess I can see it. He doesn't talk much, so you wouldn't get annoyed with him—"

"I don't like Humphrey like that," Luc says before Futch gets carried away. He doesn't particularly mind Humphrey, truth be told. Humphrey has a better head on his shoulders than most of the people in this army, including some of its leaders, and unlike his—whatever Futch is to him—he leaves well enough alone. But Luc refuses to give Futch any more encouragement in this pointless exercise.

"Okay," Futch says, undeterred. "But I bet it's someone who fought with us in the Liberation Army. Huh. Is it Kasumi?"

Luc sighs. "Sasuke likes Kasumi. Go bother him about that. It'll be more fun than this."

"No it won't, he just gets beet red and vanishes whenever I bring it up. _You_ have to stay in front of the tablet."

If Luc could shatter that tablet into a million granite shards right now—his Rune pulses on the back of his hand, and he isn't sure whether it's with alarm or encouragement.

"Think about it this way," Futch says. "The quicker you tell me, the quicker I leave. So is it someone more around your age? Meg? She's pretty cute, and you both like tricking people."

"I don't try to trick people." It's only partially a lie. Well, it shouldn't be his fault if people are too stupid to figure out what he's up to.

"Right, I guess that's a no. Let's see—hey, is it Apple? She's smart. You like smart people, right?"

Luc rubs his forehead. It does nothing for the headache building in his temples. "You're asking me two different questions."

"Then just answer the first one."

"No, I don't have a crush on Apple. Are you satisfied yet?"

It's the wrong question, because Futch's grin spreads. "Nope. Come on, just tell me."

 _No_ , Luc almost says, but cuts himself off in time, thank the gods. "There's nothing to tell."

"I don't see why you're being so stubborn. There's nothing to be scared of." Futch pauses, glances around at the soldiers gathered in the hall (who are thankfully few in number and don't seem much interested in the goings-on at the tablet), and lowers his voice. "Wait. Do you like Hix? Because if you do, then okay, maybe there's something to be scared of."

"I'm not scared. And I don't like Hix."

Futch leans in even closer. "…is it Tengaar?"

The air around Luc chills. "Gods, no."

"Probably for the best," Futch says, nodding sagely. "I feel like I'm flying in the wrong direction here."

"You've _been_ flying in the wrong direction since this conversation started."

Futch ignores him. "I know there were more people in the Liberation Army who were around our age, who am I missing—"

"What do you even know about the Liberation Army?" Luc snaps, and the breeze picks up around his ears. "You didn't join until the war was almost over, and you stayed inside the castle most of the time after that."

Futch's face clouds; he yanks his spear away from the tablet, and Luc grips his staff tighter, feels it warm in his hands. Shu might reprimand him for fighting, but if Shu had to put up with this for hours, he'd understand.

"Just because Tir McDohl always dragged _you_ away on missions when he needed someone to—" Futch begins, then stops, his eyes growing as wide as his wyvern's. "Oh. _Oh_."

No. _No_ , damn it. The pit of Luc's stomach plummets.

"You have a crush on Tir McDohl," Futch says. He sings it, almost. He's singing it loud enough for the entire castle to hear.

"Shut up!" Luc hisses. "I do not!"

"You always lit up when a firefly when he came down to check the tablet." Futch's eyes dance. Luc is going to _rip them out_ if he keeps this up. "I bet you were thinking about kissing him—"

"I wasn't!"

"It's okay, I don't think he'd mind. He's really nice, and if you could get past Gremio—"

"Shut up!" he shouts, and goes after Futch with his staff. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

The blow ends up glancing off Futch's elbow, and he laughs as though Luc tickled him rather than hit him. "Wow, no wonder you stand in the back all the time. You hit like a six-year-old."

"Do you want me to use my Rune instead?" Luc raises his hand aloft, and the breeze whips faster and faster around his fingers until it sharpens into sickles. "Because I will—"

"Calm down!" Futch says, and headbutts Luc in the gut, which snaps his concentration and sends him staggering into the stone tablet. "There's nothing wrong with you liking Tir McDohl—"

" _I do not have a crush on Lord McDohl!_ "

And of course that's the precise moment when someone seizes Luc by the back of his collar and hauls him away from Futch. Humphrey claps a hand on Futch's shoulder, which is apparently enough to hold Futch in place even though Futch is trying to squirm loose and saying, "I didn't _do_ anything."

"What's this about McDohl?" Viktor asks, because being hauled into the air like a misbehaving cub by that bear makes this day even better. 

"All I said was that Luc has a crush on him," Futch says, and at this point there's no way that the entire castle isn't listening in. Futch adds, to Luc, "I never said it was a bad thing."

"'Course it's not a bad thing," Viktor says, and gives Luc a hard enough shake that his circlet slips down his forehead. "Half the Liberation Army had a crush on Tir McDohl. Hell, I almost had a crush on Tir McDohl. If he were a couple years older…"

 _He'll never be a couple of years older, and none of you understand that, none of you could possibly know what that feels like_ , Luc wants to bite back. He bites his lip instead, scowls, hopes his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. "Whether you have a crush on Lord McDohl or not isn't my business, and it's not your business whether I do or not. So put me down."

"Fair enough," Viktor says, and deposits Luc on his feet. Luc supposes he should be glad that Viktor didn't drop him to the ground. He whacks Luc across the shoulderblades, and Luc nearly doubles over. "But no more fighting, you two. Got it? Save it for the battlefield."

"Yes, sir," Futch says, glancing at Humphrey, and Luc mumbles his assent.

"Good. Hey, as long as we're talking about crushes on Tir McDohl, anyone seen Kasumi around? She's gotta be done scouting by now…"

Viktor and Humphrey walk up the stairs, and Futch starts to follow them. He turns around at the foot of them, though, and makes the most obscene kissing face Luc's ever seen, complete with horrible wet sounds. By the time Luc charges to the stairs, Futch has scampered to the top of them, laughing his head off. Luc straightens his robes, glares at all the soldiers staring in his direction, and stalks back to the tablet.

Loneliness sounds like a wonderful idea right now.


End file.
